


A Thousand Other Boys Could Never Reach You

by sesetre (orphan_account)



Series: What You Feel is What You Are [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Kidfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sesetre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are circumstances around the appearance of Elliot Watson-Holmes which may never be understood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Other Boys Could Never Reach You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Black Balloon" by the Goo Goo Dolls.
> 
> I don't own the Holmes brothers or John or Greg, but they like to play in my thoughts, so I borrow them.

“Elliot!” The word reverberated through 221B as John searched for his wayward son as he hung up his phone.  
“Elliot! Come here now!” He bellowed from the kitchen.  
A boy with a mop top of black hair tiptoed cautiously into the kitchen. “Yes papa?” he asked cautiously, opening his eyes as wide as possible.  
“Nope. No, your father can't get away with that look anymore and neither can you.”  
The little boy deflated.  
“Listen, Elliot, you simply cannot skip school!”  
“It's so boring!”  
“No. No, boring is not an excuse. There is no valid excuse. School is a part of life Elliot! You have to go to school. If I hear about you skipping again, I'll tell uncle Mycroft.”  
“Papa no!” The boy pleaded.  
“Will do! Now, march upstairs, you have homework to do.”  
“Yes sir.” Elliot grumbled as he climbed the stairs.  
“What's all this about?”  
John turned toward his husband who was just coming up the stairs.  
“Your son!” He said, pointing his finger into Sherlock's chest. “Your son has been skipping class! No,” he interrupted Sherlock before he could even begin. “There is no acceptable reason for a seven year old to skip school!”

“If the seven year old is intelligent enough to realize that school is boring then he should be able to make informed decisions about his education.”

“In-Informed,” John sputtered, “Sherlock! He’s seven years old! He is already two years ahead of other kids his age! He has to at least go to school. It’s the law.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“For god’s sake Sherlock! Even you went to school.”

“Yes, and I’m a sociopath.”

“Do you even know what that means?” John glared.

“Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then you know the diagnosis does not apply to the man who is currently in possession of my heart. The man who brought heaven to earth to keep our son safe.”

Sherlock looked around for an escape, uncomfortable with the spotlight on his good deeds.

“You would have done the same John,” he said dismissively.

“Yes, I would have and that’s rather the point,” John said softly, taking Sherlock’s chin in his hands, “I love you, you daft git. You are a great person, and I will not let you pretend otherwise. At least, not at home.”

Sherlock smirked and kissed John squarely.

“Now,” John backed away, “About Elliot, you are going to go up there and tell him how important school is and how necessary an education is to his future.”

“School does not necessarily mean education,” Sherlock stated petulantly.

“For a child, it does. Go.” John ordered in his best officer tone.

Sherlock shuffled onto his parental duty.

\----

“Papa sent you?” Elliot looked up at his Dad.

“He’s worried about you. And he is right, you have no business skipping school at your age.”

“At what age is it appropriate?”

Sherlock pierced Elliot with his best glare, “None.”

Elliot scoffed, “It’s so boring.”

“I know,” Sherlock lamented, “But sometimes we have to do things even though we find them boring.”

“Like when Papa makes you go to Tesco’s?”

“Exactly like that,” Sherlock winced at the thought.

“I wish I could just stay home all day with you,” Elliot sighed.

“Is that all you think I do? Sit at home?”

“No. I know you run around solving the cases Uncle Greg can’t figure out, which is all of them.”

Sherlock laughed, “Regardless, you must go to school. If you hate it so much, I suggest you apply yourself harder and finish early.”

“I can do that?”

“Yes, if you work at it, no reason why you can’t take your A levels by the time you’re thirteen.”

Sherlock chuckled as he watched the cogs grinding in Elliot’s brain, “In the meantime, finish your homework before dinner.”

\----

Sherlock made John a cup of tea.

“What’s this?”

“Tea John, you drink enough of it I should think you would be familiar with a cup of tea by now.”

“Yes, but, Sherlock, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed as he shoved the mug into John’s free hand and flopped onto the sofa.

John looked from the fresh mug in one hand to the half empty mug in the other, gritted his teeth, sighed and went back to documentary he was watching, knowing Sherlock would tell him when his guilt overwhelmed.

“I may have told Elliot he can take his A levels at thirteen.”

John did his best to remain calm, “And why did you do that?”

“Because he is bright enough to and would give him drive to study and stay in school.”

John shook his head and sighed, there was nothing to be done with the situation and Sherlock already realized his statement was a bit not good.

“Well, maybe now he won’t skip school. Greg called,” John switched directions.

“And?” Sherlock muttered.

“He and Mycroft are going to pop over for a bit tonight, they have some news about it.”

Sherlock turned his back, grumbling, knowing there was only one thing which could not be spoken of freely in the house (John’s rules about not mentioning ‘gory things’ in front of Elliot aside), one thing only ever referred to as ‘it’ and that one thing was not something he could escape.

“After Elliot’s asleep,” John added.

“Good,” Sherlock replied.

\----

“She’s dead,” Lestrade stated with no preamble.

Sherlock and John both stifled a gasp.

“You’re sure?” John asked.

“Quite,” interjected Mycroft, “One hundred percent DNA match.”

“Well,” John sat down slowly. Sherlock hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Well,” John tried again, not managing to bring the thought along any further. He opened his mouth again but before he could utter another ‘well’ Sherlock glared at him.

“I guess that’s that then,” John said dejected.

“Yes,” Mycroft sneered.

For seven years they had been trying to find the woman who had left Elliot with Mrs. Hudson, claiming the boy was Sherlock’s. For seven years, they had been trying to find out how the boy was genetically Sherlock’s son. For seven years they had, as a family, pursued the answers to the mystery of Elliot Watson-Holmes. And now, for the first time in seven years they had to accept that they may never have the answers.

There had been epic rows after Elliot appeared. John accusing Sherlock of cheating, Sherlock denying it more passionately as time went on. And then a disgruntled convict decided the best way to get back at the great Sherlock Holmes was to kidnap his son and suddenly it didn’t matter how Elliot happened, all that mattered was that he existed and continue to do so. It took seventy-two harrowing hours for Sherlock and John to track the kidnapper down. Seventy-two hours for them to realize that there was nothing that they wouldn’t do for their son. After that, they never brought up the ‘how’ or the ‘why’ of Elliot. And now, there would never be an answer to those questions.

“I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing,” John said.

“It is what it is,” Mycroft responded.

Lestrade and Mycroft took their leave shortly after, John and Sherlock not quite sure what to do or say.

“How do we feel about this?” John asked cautiously.

Sherlock sighed in frustration, “I don’t know John, how _do_ we feel about this?”

“Sherlock,” John started, moving to sit with him on the sofa, “I don’t care about the ‘how’ anymore, and frankly,” John lowered his voice to a whisper ashamed of his thoughts, “I’m glad she’s not ever going to show up on the doorstep demanding him back.”

“Me too,” Sherlock said quietly, shifting his head into John’s lap, “I thought once, that I didn’t need anyone, and then I met you, and I realized, however slowly, that I couldn’t breathe, let alone live without you.”

John twined his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and let his head fall back onto the sofa. Confessions of emotions were not a common occurrence and he didn’t want to do anything to interfere.

“And I was happy, truly happy, for the first time in my life, with you,” Sherlock continued, “I thought that my heart was full and then Elliot showed up and I almost lost you over a,” Sherlock faltered, afraid to say the words as he thought them seven years ago, “stupid infant,” he whispered. “I detested him for interfering with our happiness. But when Craigson took him, it was like when Moriarty strapped a bomb to you. I felt like my heart was exploding. It was irrational, the baby had no hold on me, couldn’t, the only one who ever had my heart was you. But somehow, there he was, baby Elliot, not even able to walk on his own and he had somehow stolen my heart. I have spent the last seven years terrified that someone was going to take him away from us again. Now, no one can. And I am alright with that.”

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock tenderly. 

“I love you,” he whispered.


End file.
